


seasons whisper to the passing eve

by Himitsu_Uragiri



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Dreams, Heavy Angst, M/M, MidoTaka Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himitsu_Uragiri/pseuds/Himitsu_Uragiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima's dreams take him through time and space, where everything is different and foreign but with one constant; the existence of Takao Kazunari.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seasons whisper to the passing eve

_With autumn comes evanescent beauty._

The curtains to the summer of their third year in high school had drawn to an unremarkable close. Another lost page scribbled with vapid musings in the diary of adolescents. After the treacherous heat of what was considered the hottest summer recorded in Japan - as it was every year due to global warming - the cooling rains that drifted in with the start of autumn provided a refreshing respite welcomed by all and sundry. Relishing sedentary hours indoors as time ticked with the orchestrated pitter-patter of rainfall on the concrete pavement, glass windows, roof tiles and various instrumental surfaces. At dawn, transparent winds gave chase to grey pillows of clouds, allowing unfiltered balmy sunlight to stream through - idyllic days for a stroll down the dappled shade of tree-lined streets. Across the familiar panorama, trees clad in lavish dresses of red and gold fluttered in the hushed breeze. Basking in the fractured intensity, the leaves of the ginkyo trees glistened with a lustrous yellow like translucent topaz.

Regrettably, not all walks of life were given the privilege to soften their hastened gazes to admire the panoramic cityscape. The harried rushed along, blind to the blooming autumn. For third year high school students across the country, the season bode a crucial time. Final exams were drawing ever closer; decisions, studies and thoughts of prospective career paths had obstinately taken up residence in their minds, leaving room for little else. One after another, students anxiously submitted their career forms and were called in for counselling sessions with their respective teachers.

As a committed student, Midorima Shintarou viewed the affair with grave consideration. Carefully, methodically, he filled his career form in tidy handwriting and critically thought out words. Concise and neat with everything in perfect order, borderline obsessive compulsive. The unassuming sheet of paper that bore the immense burden of future aspirations was handed to his teacher personally, prior to all his classmates, paper pristine and crisp. The act was accompanied by neither hesitation nor nervousness, lacking any hint of a second thought in his rigid posture, something his homeroom teacher took notice of. The aged man accepted the lone sheet with a wrinkled smile, giving it a short glance he nodded satisfactorily to himself.

"Aiming high I see. But you are an outstanding student, I am sure you will be accepted into the university of your choice." The man leaned back in his chair as the words were delivered, their conversation over before it even began.

With a solemn nod of comprehension, Midorima excused himself and rushed to basketball practice. For as long as he could remember, he had wanted to follow in his father's admirable footsteps. To follow a path that lead to a respectable occupation beneficial to society; to become a doctor. As an ardent child, studying became second nature, and between the printed pages of heavy books Midorima found an enrapturing galaxy of limitless knowledge. Even after entering middle school and becoming a member of the undefeatable Generation of Miracles, his inherent nature had not changed. He remained true to his childhood decision and did everything to the best of his abilities.

Everyday he would meticulously groom his nails to perfection. Everyday he would pour over his textbooks ahead of his lessons. Everyday he worked hard to pursue the ideal profession he had decided upon as a determined child, without fail. Without the hindrance of second thoughts, as though his destiny had been carved in stone. And that was why Takao's lack of commitment regarding his future prospects served to grate on his nerves. For someone as structured as Midorima, the black haired boy's behaviour was unacceptably frivolous. Takao seemed too keen on living in the here and now to spare a single thought to time that had yet to come.

"What about you Shin-chan? Are your plans smooth sailing?" He had asked one day on their way to practice after school.

"Of course," he replied without skipping a beat.

"You still haven't told me which university you plan to attend."

"Hmph. Instead of nosing into other's business you should be concerned about your own future."

The black haired teen made a moue of mock discontent and released an exasperated sigh, deciding to drop the subject with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Takao looked up at his partner, eyes flashing briefly with an unknown emotion before a teasing smile stretched across his expression just as quickly. The change was so fleeting Midorima wondered if it was a trick of the light.

"Shin-chan's so mean. I only wanted to know where my boyfriend is going after we graduate."

"Takao! I told you not to use such terms in public," he snapped at the male beside him.

They had arrived at the gym, there might have been someone close by who could hear them.

"Relax Shin-chan, there's no one around." The boy tapped the corner of his eye for emphasis. "Well, let's just work hard for the Winter Cup for the time being."

At the end of his sentence, Takao tip-toed to a temporary height and gave the taller male a soft, almost feather-like peck on the cheek. The teen dashed through the gym doors right after, echoes of his jovial laugh lingering in the newfound silence. A foreign weight rooted Midorima to the spot he stood, a rose tint blooming on his cheeks as they tingled with the ghost of soft lips.

After a tiring evening of practice, the Shuutoku pair walked home, the famed rickshaw having been sent to the workshop for repairs. The bicycle-cart had served them well for three years through rain, shine and snow, and thus required maintenance on its weather worn gears. His silver-eyed partner took full advantage of the cart's absence to enjoy their walk side by side. At every opportunity, Takao would snake their hands together despite his protests to such actions in public. Harsh words and a steely glare never deterred the male however, always reassuring Midorima that no one was around to witness their covert relationship. But perhaps, an embarrassing notion he was not inclined to reveal, the tender warmth and slightly irregular pulse of the smaller hand in his was a welcomed endearment.

They had also been going home on foot the summer of their second year when Takao pulled him to a nearby park where he made a timorous confession, silver eyes shy but glinting with hope. Midorima could vividly remember the cold, sweaty palms on his face in contrast to the stifling summer heat. The music of cicadas that erupted with the salty taste of their first kiss could not rival the sound of his own erratic heart, threatening to explode into a colourful display of fireworks. The drop of sweat running down his neck, and the quivering lips against his, nose breathing in the cloying stench of their combined exhales; sensations that translated into a fond memory nestled deep within his heart, to be kept for eternity.

Midorima contemplated Takao's annoying presence by his side now, his lame jokes, endless chatter of mundane topics, loud voice disrupting his quiet thoughts, but most prominent of all, the look of pure joy reflected in silver irises as Takao beamed up at him, smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. It was as though nothing mattered to him but his taller and impassive partner, finding childish delight in the mere company of a beloved.

His thoughts presently came to a halt as they arrived at an intersection, diverging lanes leading to their respective homes. The junction where often goodbyes were bid, and where a promise of another shared tomorrow was made. Takao waved an energetic farewell and shouted, "See you tomorrow Shin-chan!" before skipping gaily away.

Midorima too, took his path home, feeling displaced by the empty silence.

As the moon encroached upon the blanketed night, Midorima resigned to bed at his usual time and dreamt in the arms of Morpheus.

 

Midorima was not well versed in the intricately mannered world of the red light district. However, the Meiji-era provided many business opportunities and as the heir of a wealthy corporation, occasional visits with entrepreneurs to the tea houses and brothels in the pleasure district was common practice, one he reserved strictly for business matters. He never frequented the same place on multiples occasion in his efforts to avoid being associated as a regular customer. Furthermore, he only called for a courtesan out of necessary politeness and made it a point to never stay the night.

As a highly educated scholar, he saw no benefit in indulging himself in carnal, fleeting pleasures. Rather than frolicking time away with people of lesser intellect and participating in redundant activities, Midorima much preferred investing his energy in acquiring more knowledge. However, on one such customary visit to a brothel recommended by a close acquaintance with blazing red hair, he found himself ensnared within the beginnings of a beguiling spider web spun by an ebony haired beauty.

In an aesthetic world teeming with fully blossomed women graced with bewitching smiles, Midorima's attention was wholly captured not by a winsome courtesan but by a male koto player sitting by his lonesome by the far corner of the room. Above the clamour of clinking clay teacups, merry singing and idle chatter, the beautiful strains of a song began. With the tremor of the first scale, the rest of his senses were numbed, the sounds of merriment dulled into a quiet din and the warm air of the crowded room dropped to a chilling temperature as goosebumps rose on his skin. So completely enraptured he was by the skilled koto player's mesmerising performance that he felt as though he was trapped in an entirely different universe; a world where nothing else existed, save for him and the enchanting melody that sang from the tips of sinuous fingers.

Once the song came to a serene end, the player's lowered eyes came up to meet his, starlight clashing with emerald. Silvery irises that were clear and crystalline like the reflection of a full moon on a still pond during summer haunted him for many nights to come.

Even his name, _Kazunari_ , came in whispered breaths during moments of solitude.

Like a fly that was naturally drawn to light despite its perils, Midorima found himself in the company of the man he was enthralled by, his being more alluring in the enclosed private room. The man currently sat in seiza style a few feet away from him, dressed in fine cerulean silk with minute detailed stiches of colourful butterflies fluttering along the expanse of the kimono. A radiant flower of soft pink hues rested atop the raven's head, silver ornaments dangled from the hidden roots of the hair piece and swayed with the slightest movement. Kazunari himself resembled a butterfly with his long flowing sleeves and large obi; beautifully fragile. The man wore light makeup that complimented his delicate features and Midorima could not help but wonder if the player had made an effort in his presentation for him before quickly diminishing the hopeful thought away.

"What would you have me play, Midorima-sama?" Stelliferous eyes gazed softly, almost shyly, at him.

The sweet honey-like timbre of his voice caressed his ears pleasantly, sending an involuntary shudder down his spine. It was the first occasion where he was the blessed audience of Kazunari's speech, for the male often only whispered in hushed tones as Midorima had observed. As a mere koto player, he was not required to converse directly with the customers, that was a task left to the courtesans. Caught by surprise, Midorima gapped unattractively and stuttered the first word that came to his frenzied mind.

"S-Sakura … Sakura Sakura."

In the presence of the ethereal grace before him, Midorima felt like a fool for loosing his composure. He clenched his jaw tight and straightened his back, conspicuous in his embarrassment and determined not to humiliate himself furthermore.

Kazunari smiled winsomely at him and pulled back the long sleeves of his kimono, exposing dainty white hands that could rival that of a woman of prestige, with his slender fingers and delicate wrists elegantly adorned with a simple silver bracelet. The man closed his eyes, dark lashes resting on pale cheeks as he took a deep breath before placing his hands over the wooden instrument. All this was done in practiced elegance as Midorima watched on transfixed.

The player pluck the first string experimentally, allowing the singular note to carry away before he started the familiar tune of Sakura Sakura. Midorima, unable to tear his gaze away – much like the first time – eagerly drunk in the pleasing sight of the koto player. Kazunari seemed to respire with every sonorous breath of the koto, singing a beguiling sequence of notes. Deftly picking at the strings with sinuous grace, the tempo gradually picked up; a melancholic vibrato that placed Midorima into a serene trance, envisioning cherry blossoms swaying in the wind and the sweet fragrance that accompanied each inhale. The music slowed towards the end, a quiet pull in each lingering note.

Since that enchanting night coined by fate, he began his coveted trips to the same brothel several times a week, and took the horse drawn carriage home when the moon reached its zenith in the night sky. With each twilight excursion, he soon came to appreciate the lovely view of the evening trees dyed red by the light of the paper lanterns strung across the streets. A scenery illuminated with sybaritic splendour that he once detested, because surely red was the colour of madness.

In lieu of accepting colloquial invitations to dine, frolic and freely discuss economic matters over good sake and tea at arbitrary brothels, he would specifically request to meet at the brothel in which Kazunari worked at. Like a besotted disciple, Midorima often paid the koto player frequent visits during his leisure hours. Every time, he never failed to unhesitantly call upon Kazunari to play the koto regardless of whether he was alone or with a business associate. On unfortunate days where the koto player was busy entertaining other guests, Midorima easily became irritated and short tempered with the unskilled girls that futilely attempted to please him with their inelegant noise of dissonant experience - an exasperation that could only be placated by the raven haired beauty. None of their powdered faces could compare to the natural beauty and refined elegance Kazunari inherently possessed.

With every string that reverberated from the koto, a responding chord was struck within Midorima, composing a messy but thrillingly harmonious rhythm. And as the song reached a stunning crescendo, Midorima became helplessly trapped in the silver web of enticing entanglement.

"I did not expect you to come tonight," the male's silky voice said.

"Do you find me bothersome?" He asked, acutely conscious of himself and of the alluring man before him.

Tonight marked his third visit in a row to the brothel. Questions of anxious insecurities voiced themselves aloud in his mind, filling his head with fractious discussions. Did he request for the koto player one too many times? Had he enthusiastically misread the seductive looks cast by shimmering irises?

As though sensing his growing distress and finding amusement in his predicament, the black haired male chuckled lightly into the sleeve of his kimono.

"Not at all Midorima-sama. On the contrary, I find you very cute." Kazunari lowered his delicate chin and looked up at him through dark lashes, a small smile playing on his luscious lips. "If I had known you were coming I would have dressed better."

At the bold statement, Midorima's cheeks dusted a light pink. Whether from the embarrassment of being called cute or from the revelation that Kazunari may share a mutual interest in him, he was uncertain.

"N-no. That is not necessary. I have always found you attractive … even now. "

Kazunari's beauty was not of a fickle nature, but intrinsic. Clad in a simple indigo kimono, the koto player exuded grace unique to himself. Despite the lack of makeup, his porcelain cheeks glowed naturally from the warmth of the room and his undecorated lips commanded Midorima's attention. Even the most marvellous flower or the fairest maiden in the world would pale in comparison. A heartfelt confession that resulted in an abrupt explosion of warmth across Midorima's face.

"I'm flattered by your praise. It is always a pleasure to play for you."

"The pleasure is all mine. Your skills are unchallenged," he spoke with proud certainty.

The compliment was rewarded with a soft laugh, music to his ears like that of songbirds in spring.

"Thank you for you continued patronage. I hope we will grow to be better acquainted." Kazunari bowed respectfully low in dogeza, forehead pressed against his neatly folded hands, exposing his white swan neck.

Encased within the soft silvery cocoon, Midorima found himself craving for more, easily submitting to the allure of an exquisite creature.

 

Red, Midorima mused, suited Kazunari's fair skin well. Drunk on expensive sake, traditional music and the man's sweet fragrance, Midorima – though fairly surprised – allowed the somewhat intoxicated koto player to settle his head comfortably on his shoulder, silky dark strands tickling his neck. The raven haired male, though no scholar, was quick to learn and witty, proving to be an engaging conversation partner. He was also prone to making affable jests at Midorima's expense. However, he discovered he did not mind it as much as he was treated to the unfiltered sound of Kazunari's laugh.

A shamisen had been brought in earlier at his request after Kazunari timidly confessed his brief learning of the instrument. Simple songs echoed from the hallow wood of the shamisen, the male's movements ever graceful as he hummed in tune.

As the evening wore on, the two males found themselves seated side by side in content, lulled by each other's warmth. Midorima chanced a glance out the window where sounds – the combined music of a shamisen and koto, accompanied by spirited chatter – muffled by the distance floated in, wrapping around their quiet intimacy. An endless void greeted his sight, the light of the stars and moon obscured by the ominous clouds. The brothel was still lively but Midorima knew it was about time he departed.

"I should go," he voiced his decision aloud to counter his reluctant heart but made no move to leave.

His abrupt declaration jostled the resting male beside him into alertness. Kazunari slowly lifted up his head and pressed closer to him, seeking solace.

"Won't you stay a little longer?" He pleaded in a subdued voice, thin fingers curling around the sleeve of his hakama, tugging softly in the fashion of a demure child.

An alluring pink decorated his porcelain cheeks, silver eyes faintly clouded over and full red lips that parted slightly in invitation filled Midorima's field of vision. But it was the sweet scent from his enticing skin that tipped him over the edge, scattering all logical thoughts. Acting on impulse, Midorima captured the man's luscious lips into a searing kiss of long suppressed desires. He tasted Kazunari for the first time, its succulent sweetness appetising his hunger for more. And there was nothing he could do to stop his descent into the abyss of passion.

Unsteady hands clumsily loosened the black obi around the koto player's thin waist. The heavy embroidered kimono slipped off the small frame in a trailing splendour. Weaving between the layers of fabric, Midorima kissed the newly exposed alabaster skin with a fervency akin to that of a famished beast as his wandering hands explored intimate places, lavishing the pink pleasure points with close attention.

Calming down from their feverous exertion, they laid in each other's arms, listening as the night sky rained down on the earth in a soothing lullaby. Kazunari shifted his weight onto his elbow, locking their eyes together. In the spellbound gaze of an enamoured man, the beautiful male above him was awash in an ethereal glow, his black hair as dark as the night with eyes that reflected starlight. With a tremulous hand, he caressed Midorima's face with a mother's tenderness.

"I am in love with you," he breathed.

The barely whispered words ghost over the skin of his neck, raising goosebumps in their shocking wake. The hushed confession rendered him speechless, mind void of thoughts, Midorima examined the silver irises, shimmering with a sincerity and an emotion he feared to name. Unable to voice a reply, he pulled the man into another kiss, locking away unsaid words and unasked questions.

Before the sun awoke to lighten the dark horizon, Midorima gently detangled himself from pale limbs and linen sheets. He dressed quickly but quietly, vigilant of the slumbering male. Before Kazunari's eyelids could flutter open, he made a discreet exit from the brothel and rode away into the new day with the same hakama he wore the previous night, a sweet fragrance accompanying him all the way home.

When Midorima returned to his household, his father called him into his study after breakfast.

"Shintarou, you did not return home last night."

It was not a question, but a statement delivered in an austere voice that revealed his father's displeasure.

"I apologise, father. I assure you there will never be a repeat of the night's incident." He hung his head low in solemn resolution.

"Very well," his father concluded, falling into a contemplative silence as he appraised his son with a keen eye. "I've caught wind of a most upsetting rumour regarding your notable patronage at a certain brothel."

The man allowed the words to sink in, taking note of the change of expression on Shintarou's pallor.

"You are a grown man. I assume you are aware of your responsibilities as a member of this household first and foremost."

"Yes father."

"Do not forget about the omiai next week. It is of great importance you marry a respectable lady with good prestige."

Midorima left his father's study, weighted down and hardened by the obligatory burden of upholding his family's good name on his shoulders. Red, he decided, was surely the colour of madness.

Judgement clouded by beauty, he had strayed off the golden path. To decathect himself from the divine creature that haunted his dreams, he decided to dive head first into his studies and duties, leaving little room for anything else except nutrition and the bare minimum rest. Thrusting his every waking hour into work, Midorima found the glorified path once again and locked away memories of indelible silver eyes and delicate gestures.

He never saw Kazunari again. Midorima was a man with a renowned name. And he was a mere entertainer, no better than a servant. They were not meant to be.

As the more crucial matters of life overtook the transient emotion of adoration with the temerity of a train, only the reminiscence of a magical – almost fictitious in its perfection – memory remained on still nights when the stars shone brighter than the moon. Perhaps it had been a dream after all.

 

Midorima awoke to another mediocre Thursday. Green eyes lazily blinked open, remnants of a dream played in a fragmented sequence, the story fading into a misty illusion as his mind regained consciousness. He sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose, body and mind still lethargic from the eight hour sleep. Something about the dream felt achingly familiar and surely the man made the most logical decision, just as he had.

After basketball practice, Midorima stood under the powerful jet of the showers as steaming water soothed his aching muscles. The last person had left a few minutes ago, leaving only the sound of water beating against polished tiles to echo in his ears. A relaxing time where neither the absence of sound resonated loudly nor did the air grate with formed words.

Stepping into the locker room, he found it empty as he had expected, most students having rushed off to meet their friends, attend cram school or simply home for a hearty meal and well-deserved rest. Midorima found a note taped to his locker door. Water steadily dripped from his hair onto the paper, staining some of the words but after putting on his spectacles, he read the note in Takao's messy scrawl, informing his 'beloved partner' that he would be waiting outside.

He found the point guard by the tree-lined pathway that lead to the front gates. The sun was spilling liquid flame onto the translucent clouds along the horizon, straining them in Shuutoku's trademark orange. Takao's face was lifted towards the heavens, his sun-kissed skin glowing golden in the last rays of sunlight and his eyelashes fluttering like colourful wings. Midorima approached the boy with silent steps, comforted by the knowledge that he had long been aware of his presence, courtesy of his exceptional eyesight.

A cooling breeze whispered, rustling the leaves. Midorima followed the trajectory of an autumn leaf as it danced languidly in the air before coming to land atop the head of silky black hair.

"Yoh, Shin-chan. Took you long enough." Takao's face split into his signature grin as his eyes came to rest on the tall form of the shooting guard.

Absent-mindedly, Midorma lifted his left hand to brush off the offending leaf and tuck a cumbersome stray strand of hair behind the male's ear. Transparent silver irises that reflected aureate flecks noticeably widened in apparent surprise at the rare gesture of mild affection. There was nothing refined or elegant about Takao, but that did not stop him from thinking the boy was beautiful.

* * *

 

_With winter comes warm endearment._

Darkness had fallen, the sky a sea of glow worms, their light flickering gleams akin to shivers from the cold wind, a harbinger of winter. It was the sort of evening where the howling breath of night swept through the empty streets, its civilians under the protection of a roof. Despite the secured windows and doors, the night chill had managed to creep into the Midorima household, wrapping its unforgivingly icy touch around a certain black haired boy. The modest double storey house was void of most of its inhabitants, the married couple away on a business trip while the youngest Midorima seized the opportunity to sleep over at her friend's place. Only two familiar souls occupied the cool interior of the home that night. Takao had launched into a jeremiad regarding the dropping temperature and Midorima was forced to oblige him by taking out the kotatsu early – it was merely the beginning of November – although he himself was not susceptible to the bone clattering cold as the shorter male had indignantly claimed. However, experience had taught him of the point guard's heightened sensitivity to changes in the temperature, like a hawk going into hibernation at the dawn of winter. Peace and quiet would not have been achievable otherwise, Takao forever a culprit of Midorima's vexation.

Winter Cup was a few ticks away from the calendar, the increased regimen of their practice could rival that of a military's elite force, physically draining any and all participants, but Shuutoku's players fought on with fiery determination at heart. In spite of the fatigue he faced from vigorous training, Midorima refused to neglect his studies and Takao had one-sidedly declared they hold a study session together, intent on seeking his expertise in the field of mathematics. Upon his arrival at the front door however, the male's ludic behaviour proved his energetic willingness for anything but studies. Eventually, it played out into another evening where Takao regaled him with inane gossip over dinner before they retired into the living room. Said boy was currently nestled comfortably under the kotatsu like an oversized content cat, stomach full and body warm. The low murmur of the television floated into the kitchen where Midorima was tending to the dirty dishes. A deep sigh escaped past thin lips, he wondered if any form of revision would be accomplished tonight.

"Takao, turn off the TV. It will distract you from studying," Midorima reprimanded in a condescending tone as he emerged by the doorway.

"But Shin-chaaan, I'm too tired to do anything else," the boy protested, dragging the syllables in his nickname.

Midorima exhaled another sigh through his nose, one of reluctant acceptance. Admittedly, basketball practice had wrung out the last vestiges of his youthful vitality, leaving him both physically and mentality worn.

"Then go to sleep."

"Can I sleep in your bed?" Takao regained a moment of enthusiasm, eyes dancing with gleeful hope.

"No," he replied curtly.

"Aww but I don't wanna sleep on the floor. It's too cold," he huffed, eyebrows drawing together and lips forming an adorable pout.

"I'll make some tea. It'll warm you up."

He left the male, luxuriously sprawled out on the table soaking in the warmth of the kotatsu, and returned to the kitchen. The preparations for tea were done on autopilot, the procedures ingrained into the muscles of his body. A few minutes later, Midorima headed to the living room, tray laden with tea and a light snack balanced on one hand. Expecting to find Takao exactly how he left him, he was surprised to see the room empty, the television still tuned onto a drama channel. Walking further into the room, Midorima noticed a mop of black hair peeping out from under the kotatsu. Takao was snuggled onto his side fast asleep, breath even and tranquil.

"Takao, wake up. You can't sleep here," he called, setting down the tray and turning off the television.

When Takao did not stir, he finally focused his attention on the slumbering male. Takao was a light sleeper, and under normal circumstances, a soft call or a slight push would easily rouse the boy from dreamland. However now, as Midorima studied his pallor, he finally noticed the taut tiredness that hung about his eyes in dark circles. In regards to the accumulation of pressure from teachers to perform well in studies and the anticipation of the Winter Cup, the raven haired male's efforts had doubled. Midorima was well acquainted with his partner and lover's contradicting personality, the flamboyant flaunt of a laid back and fun loving character that masked Takao's true nature of handling life with pensive regard. Paying close attention to class, taking notes and even raising his hand for the occasional inquiry, the extra effort in their plays for mere practice games, all little things that were not lost on the observant Midorima. Shouldering the responsibilities of a third year with his signature smile in stride. He worked hard, too hard, Midorima found it a degree of disconcert, considering the boy's loss of weight and his apparent fatigue.

"Takao, you'll strain your neck if you sleep like that," his voice was a low whisper, his reprimand half-hearted.

The featherlike stroke of unbandaged fingers against soft cheeks and a muted kiss to silky black locks, were actions done on instinct. Movements he did not control deliberately, did not bother to when all was quiet, warm and serene. Moments when the endearing boy was not awake to bear witness to his tender show of affection, Midorima still too conscious of his own embarrassment.

Perhaps, resigning early for the night was a wise decision. And perhaps, he would allow Takao to sleep in the living room, just for tonight. Coming to terms with his current situation, Midorima moved to switch off the lights, grab a pillow and settle under the kotatsu alongside the point guard. Comfy snugness and Takao smelling pleasantly of his shampoo enveloped him in a gentle cocoon. The quietude and relaxing warmth settled heavily on his eyelids, drawing them closed as he was lulled to sleep by the soft, steady breaths of the male beside him.

In his mind, he heard Takao's sleepy voice, with certain clarity as though he had just whispered those very words, as he had many nights before.

"Good night, Shin-chan. Sweet dreams."

 

The fresh scent of lavender that had been permanently imprinted onto the bed sheets after multiple washings with the particular brand of fabric softener he endeavoured to use greeted his diurnal mornings. Blurry emerald eyes blinked lethargically up at the warm beige ceiling. Careful not to jostle the familiar weight and comforting warmth on his chest, he detangled his sweaty palm from the nest of black hair to reach across to the nightstand beside the bed, fumbling around for his spectacles. Once the corrective lenses sat perfectly on his nose, Midorima squinted at the clock. It took a moment to decipher the time as the decorative cat paws and whiskers on the delightfully childish cat shaped clock proved to be a great nuisance. His lover had bought it at a sale to replace a perfectly functional digital clock. What Midorima once considered an erroneous purchase on Takao's behalf had made its home on their night stand since its first horrifying appearance well over a year ago.

At that moment, the heavy lump slumbering on his chest made an adorable snuffling sound, drawing Midorima's groggy attention of the mess of onyx locks sticking out at odd angles. The clement light streaming in through the slightly drawn curtains outlined an endearing sight with its clear radiance. Takao slept soundly, draped across his chest like a luxurious cat, looking warm and red cheeked. It was the same kind of soft that made his hands itch with the compelling desire to touch and feel. Ever so tenderly, he caressed a smooth cheek with his left hand, feeling the man's warm existence through the calloused tips of his fingers.

The slumbering male stirred slightly with an incoherent mumble, dark lashes fluttering with the signs of rousing. Midorima was reminded how they often felt like baby moth wings dancing gently across the pan of his face every time they kissed.

Midorima noted that it was still early, the hour still premature where there was no hurry to awaken his sleeping beauty just yet. Even after all the years they shared together, he had yet to grow immune to the infectious mien of malignant torpor that radiated from his lover, especially in the early hours of the day. Whenever the raven haired man slept, the room would be perfumed with a delicate tranquil stillness – the radio off and the chatterbox himself in a peaceful doze – of the sort where even Midorima held his breath, not wishing to impede upon the placid air.

By the time silvery eyes lazily crack open to greet the day, half an hour had come to pass where Midorima simply listened to the male's quiet breaths of deep slumber. The black haired man shifted under the sheets and stretched up like a cat to pepper his face with drowsy kisses, his lips constantly missing their mark in his morning haze and Midorima took it upon himself to angle their heads until their lips finally connected in a languid kiss. Upon parting their lips, Takao nuzzled his face into the crook of his partner's neck, breathing in his familiar scent. The act was followed by sleepily whispered words of endearment and his affectionate sobriquet, his vocals croaky, as it always was in the mornings.

"Mornin' Shin-chan."

The pawed needle tips of the clock leisurely ticked the minutes away as Midorima pressed a kiss to a slightly sweaty forehead, the loving gestures unhurried.

As per habit, Midorima would shower and prepare himself for work as his partner cooked breakfast for two. Midorima stepped out of the shower feeling fresh and invigorated. After drying off with a fluffy towel, which was then wrapped securely around his waist, he traversed to their shared bedroom where his work attire had been neatly laid out on the bed for him, courtesy of Takao. As he slipped on the immaculately ironed shirt, the delicious smell of breakfast snuck in through the partially ajar door and assaulted his senses.

In the kitchen, Takao had his back to him, hands busy with a spatula and frying pan. The man was still clad in his pyjamas, or rather, Midorima's pyjamas. The thin blue cotton shirt was much too large for his slight frame; the sleeves had to be rolled up when he cooked. The shirt length ended above mid thigh, providing a teasing display of the male's slender, milky legs and drying Midorima's throat of any complains about dirtying his clothes.

"The food is almost ready. You can take a seat first," Takao informed without looking up from the task at hand.

Snapped out of his indecent reverie, Midorima licked his dry lips and sat down in his favourite position at the dining table; the chair that faced the window. Where the glass panes of the window had been thrown open for ventilation, an unobstructed scenic view of the calm Earth framed the square aperture. Swirls of smoky white blanketed across the blue oceans and brown-green lands against an endless backdrop of distant undiscovered galaxies. The overwhelming sense of freedom and privilege the stunning scene offered was unimaginable in its picturesque tranquil and beauty.

It came in the form of an average envelope – easily mistaken for any other normal mail in the pile of morning letters – one fine day. And with it, a tempting job offer to work at a new frontier- the Moon. Science and technology had advanced tremendously, enabling the once far-fetched and notional dream of habitation on the lunar surface of any aspiring astronaut into a feasible endeavour, albeit only on a small scale. A mere first phase in the baby steps to grandeur.

It was an ongoing project with many aspects to take into consideration. Thus, they avidly recruited experts of the relative fields all over the world to participate in the grand project of making the moon a possible second Earth. Midorima, a young but brilliant scientist was granted the golden class ticket to join the elite team, a gilded honour of the highest rate.

"Breakfast is served! Thanks for the wait," Takao sing-songed, waltzing into his field of view.

A full Japanese course was laid out before him, rice steaming fluffy white, fish grilled to a perfect golden crisp completed with a bowl of oshiruko to his right. Takao slid fluidly into the seat on the opposite side of the table, his back against the window. Black hair melded with the starry abyss, the glow of the Earth created the illusion of a halo that circled softly around the man's head. This was Midorima's favourite seat at the table, where the male before his eyes radiated angel soft. Saying a short appreciation for the food, he took the first bite of domestic fare, Takao's smile an enhancement to the taste.

"What time will you be back tonight?" His lover questioned, clearing the table after their meal.

"I'll be home in time for dinner."

"Anything you'd like to eat?"

"I'll leave the decision to you," he concluded as he rose from his seat.

The walk to the front door was a mere few strides with long legs passing the ornately decorated hallway. Takao, ever festive, kept track of the time and date on Earth, taking it upon himself to bedeck the house accordingly. With Christmas around the corner, garlands of green and red were strung across the walls, socks hung by the drawers and a miniature tree stood by the television, lit up by multi-coloured bulbs and ornaments of every kind – Midorima could only wonder where in the moon his lover acquired these objects. Even the photo frames had not escaped Takao's zealous festivity, each frame sporting a sticker relative to the occasion; a snowman, candy canes and Santa himself.

There were numerous photographs around the house – hanging on walls or standing on table tops – each a captured, frozen moment of their life on Earth; the graduation party, their impromptu trip to Disneyland, a family dinner, New Year's celebration with the Generation of Miracles, and the ocean. Takao loved the ocean, the salty sea breeze caressing his hair, the cool waves lapping gently at his feet as sand prickled the space between his toes. Certainly, there were many things the silver-eyed male cherished on Earth, and yet, he willingly, readily gave everything – all quiet privileges – up simply to stay by Midorima's side.

_With little incident on Takao's part but much woe from his students and colleagues, the former resigned from his job as an English teacher at the high school he once attended as a student. A letter of resignation written in a firm decisive hand, the ebony-haired man wholly determined with the choice he made, despite the initial objection of discontent that Midorima displayed. Back then, desperate as he was to stay together, Midorima was also burdened by the phantom weight of guilt. Takao had quit a job he loved and enjoyed, a place where he was most content at, to apply for a desk job at the main office of Midorima's company, a position too dull for the male's cheerful disposition. He felt as though he was stealing his lover's freedom. The clash in opinions and simple symmetry of miscommunication resulted in an argument, one which was curiously one-sided._

_"Takao you're being too rash! Think this over before you act!" He yelled, distraught, not the words his heart spoke but the words his panic induced brain provided._ I'm glad you wish to stay with me … but-

_"Don't worry Shin-chan, I've done nothing but mull over it," he smiled, jestful and childish._

_"No, you haven't."_ I'm scared.

_"Shin-chan," a dulcet tone that called to his soul, clear silver eyes searching pools of green._

_"I- I don’t want you to regret..."_ Regret leaving everything behind. To regret coming with me.

_A warm palm came to rest on his cheek, instantly halting the worry coursing through his veins with its comforting familiarity._

_"I won't regret it. I love you and I want to be with you, Shintarou," the words spoken with conviction chased away any stray thoughts in Midorima's head._

_His raving heart came down from its state of panic, like a meadow after the storm, his mind cleared and his tense shoulders sagged. Midorima placed his hand over the smaller hand on his face, closing his eyes and submitting to defeat. Lovely, wonderful and understanding Takao, only he could decipher the mess in his head before Midorima himself could and know just the remedy for it. So glad he was to have his beloved by his side in a new, foreign environment, one where he would spend an indefinite period in, unable to return._

Two years without the subtle shift of seasons came to pass, the moon base's temperature and lighting regulated by various instruments and the sky forever a display of galaxies unknown through the glass dome that served to cocoon them in safe oxygen levels and gravitational pull. Takao, having successfully acquired a desk job at headquarters worked on a regular schedule in comparison to Midorima's inconsistency bred by new discoveries and project spurred all-nighters. There were days when they barely had a glimpse of each other, weeks where he came home late with no energy left to spare than to drag his tired bones into the shower and to bed afterwards without so much as a glance at his concerned lover. But Takao remained an angel of patience, the only consistency in his life, preparing his meals with the best interest in mind. Curiously, the bento he brought to work everyday garnered the attention and occasionally, envy, of his colleagues, many who longed for the taste of home so far away. Midorima could not express his gratitude for the blessing in his life; Takao Kazunari.

"I'll be going now." They had reached the genkan, Midorima already in his shoes and lab coat.

"Have a nice day at work. Oh, and don’t forget this," Takao announced, thrusting a green box with a cartoon frog logo on the cover towards him; his bento.

"Thank you. I'll see you later for dinner." Midorima left with a chaste kiss to soft ebony. Grasping the box in hand, he exited the house, a lightness in his step and heart.

Midorima returned home late in the evening, bone tired and eyes sore from spending the entire day with his attention trained on bright screens and squinting through a microscope. Swiping his card through the reader, the door slid open, and immediately a waft of delicious scented air enveloped him in a welcoming embrace. Takao's head emerged from the doorway to the kitchen, face lighting up like a Christmas tree upon seeing the familiar face.

"Welcome back." The raven-haired man approached him as Midorima slid out of his shoes.

"I'm home," he answered, voice gruff and tired but with an unmistakable warm intimacy.

Taking a moment to study the man before him, he deduced he had been baking again- ginger bread cookies were high on the probability list, judging by the hint of tanginess in the air. The nostalgic smell of Christmas, as Takao often called it. Traces of flour streaked across flushed warm cheeks, white sparkles on the tip of his nose and the pink Hello Kitty apron wrapped securely around his waist made for an endearing sight. Smelling like home, Takao pulled him into a hug, one which he eagerly returned by encircling his arms around his waist – where the male was getting slightly round around the edges – and burying his face in ebony locks.

"I made cookies. They should be done soon. And I made pasta for dinner."

"You'll put on weight if you eat so much without exercising," Midorima warned in loving jest, squeezing the soft plump sides of the male affectionately, causing the man in his arms to giggle and squirm in protest.

"Haha … stop, that tickles!"

Their fun intimacy only lasted a minute more before Midorima relented in his attacks, releasing his lover from his affectionate torture. Truth be told, he found the softness of his beloved dearly charming, body filling in all the right places with soft chubby cheeks, granting him a youthful look and the love handles on his midsection which were satisfying to touch.

"Come on. Let's have dinner before it goes cold." Takao laced their fingers together, leading him to the kitchen, his smile the softest, sweetest curve.

Embraced by the warm, palpable love, Midorima could not imagine a better life.

 

He rose with the sun, the smell of ginger bread cookies lingering on his palate. The door to his room was abruptly thrown open, revealing the short stature of a young girl, her dark green hair pulled in a tight ponytail.

"Onii-san, wake up. Mama and I made cookies," she announced in cheerful glee.

Indeed the mouth-watering scent of baking had pursued her figure up the stairs and floated into his room uninvited. A longing ache in his chest made itself known as hauntingly exquisite images of his dream flitted across his vision.

"I'll be down in a bit," he sighed, wishing for nothing more than for quiet respite with his thoughts.

Even with the door firmly closed, the distinctive spice used in gingerbread cookies clung to his senses, mocking him with the cruelty of reality. Some things were simply not meant to be. Midorima cursed the dream.

 

It was cold, a frigid temperature where his very speech would freeze as it emanated from his lips and was blown back in stinging rimes against his cheeks. It came suddenly, soundless and sneaky in the dead of the night in diminutive white crystals of frozen vapour, and the citizens of Tokyo found their world under a mantle of soft, cold snow. Winter had finally decided to grace the world with its beautiful icy presence. Midorima had awoken early on a Sunday morning to the incessant ringing - not of his alarm, but of his phone. Like a child, Takao had called him simply to announce the arrival of wintry wonderland overnight – as though Midorima had not seen it for himself – and delivered the news with jubilant triumph as if he had been first to witness the wonderful spectacle of nature.

"Shin-chan let's go to the park! I'll meet you there in an hour!" Without waiting for a reply, Takao hung up.

Once again swept by the tide of Takao's juvenile enthusiasm, he found himself at the nearby park clad in the warmest attire, waiting for the very boy who invited him there with haste and yet had the gall to be late. Frost crunched underfoot as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, fog clinging to the air around him in cold breaths. In the white land of frost and snow, where barren trees cloaked in sparkling ice slept in the withdrawn soil, nostalgia stole onto the tips of his billowing scarf. The quietude however, was rudely dispersed when a group of children came running into the park, chasing off the shy winter fairies of sobriety. Shrieking laughter filled the hollow cold as they trod and waddled through soft deep snow.

"Shin-chan! Sorry I'm late!" A familiar raven-haired male jogged towards him, nose and cheeks tinted red by the cold and looking like the definition of happiness itself.

"What do you want? I do not approve of wasting a precious day off not studying."

"Ah, but you came anyways." He winked. "Your lucky item is a snowman right? Let's build one!"

"No, I have already acquired my lucky item of the day," Midorima said, brandishing the plastic snowman figure standing proudly on his palm.

"That doesn't cut it when you can make a real one. Don’t you do everything humanly possible?"

Midorima mulled over the statement and found truth in the boy's logic. With a nod of reluctant consent, the two set about piling snow together and began to shape the snowman. Midorima could not recall the last time he made a snowman – if he ever did at all – leaving such pointless activities in preschool. Children gathered near them, eyes curiously following the teenagers' every move- stares he obstinately ignored. He would do anything to ensure his luck, no matter how ridiculous the pursuit. The task was carried out rather smoothly, his expectations for Takao to goof around at every opportunity was proven wrong when the point guard remained subdued, seemingly content with aiding him in the snow construction as he hummed a tune in a familiar fashion which Midorima knew as 'Frosty the Snowman'. As for the finishing touch, Takao procured a carrot hidden in his trouser pocket and stuck it onto the middle of the round head where the nose should be with the triumph and satisfaction of a child who had the privilege to place the angel on top of the Christmas tree. Lastly, he unravelled his own scarf and wrapped it around the snow figure.

"We're done! That was pretty fun, right Shin-chan?" The black haired male beamed up at him, every bit as carefree as a five year old.

Taking a careful step back, Midorima examined the fruits of their labour with an assessing eye. After considering the size, proportion and solidity of the snow structure, Midorima gave a satisfactory nod.

"Good enough," he answered in a business-like manner that had Takao snickering.

"Honestly you're too uptight. It's just a snowman."

"Hmph, everything must be perfect to be in fate's favour."

"Glad you had fun too!"

Before Midorima could form a reply, the high-pitched vocals of children's laughter and squeals of protest interrupted him. The group of children had tired from observing the two teenagers and cleverly engaged themselves in a friendly snowball fight. Takao watched, a smile splitting across his features, the twinkling glint in his eyes an indication of the boy plotting something nefarious. Knowing his partner well, Midorima mentally braced himself for what was to come, ready with a reply on the tip of his tongue.

"Hey Shin-chan, let's join them!"

"Absolutely not."

"Eh, why not? It looks fun," he whined with a pout.

"We are not children anymore."

"Who says adults can't play?"

"This is ridiculous."

"Hm … or maybe Shin-chan is scared of being out done by children? Well, I'll just go play with them myself," the boy hummed, turning his back on him to approach the lively group, a mischievous air of contentment trailing behind him.

The silver eyed boy called out to the group in friendly greeting. Midorima remained standing with the snowman as a spectator and watched as the male played out his boyish charms, amiable smile in its full radiance. The ease of which Takao conversed with complete strangers, boldly, captivating and charming, the amicable nature that tamed even the most hostile of personalities, almost as though the boy sprinkled stardust in their eyes that cleared away the dark clouds so sunlight could stream through. Gaining the trust of a bunch of pre-schoolers was simple. Like how bees were attracted to flowers, the children gathered around the point guard, eager to befriend and gain the attention of a lustrous blooming flower.

As Midorima turned his back on the spectacle, intent on searching for a vending machine that sold his preferred red bean soup, something cold and hard made an impact on the back of his head. A curiously tingly sensation ran down his spine as the very projectile disintegrated into its original form; snow flakes.

"Ah! Sorry, my hand slipped," the jeering tone in which the words were delivered in suggested anything but sincerity.

"TA-KA-O!" His deep voice rumbled.

His partner merely laughed in the face of his ire, resuming his snowball fight with the children with a skip in his step. What Takao did not expect however, was for a ball of compacted snow to land squarely on top of his head, glittering flakes falling into his shirt collar and chilling his exposed neck.

"Shin-chan! I'll get you for this!" The threat was made with a smile, more jubilant than vengeful.

Time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, minutes and hours Midorima could not fully grasp, engaged as he was in the very game he dully deemed as childish. Takao, on the other hand, was drenched by the end of the ordeal. The children had formed a silent agreement to make the raven haired youth their practice target and Midorima gladly obliged as a form of revenge. Frankly, a snowball fight at his age and with children to boot was far from something he would willingly participate in, nonetheless, a faint shadow of joy stole onto his lips.

Noticing the shiver that took hold of the shorter male, Midorima wound his scarf around Takao's neck, silently voicing his concern through his actions.

"Thanks, Shin-chan."

The sight of Takao's flushed cheeks and the music of his laughter yielded a precious memory on that cold winter day.

* * *

 

_With spring comes new beginnings ... and farewell to bygones._

The cherry blossoms were in full, riotous bloom. Pale pink petals stirred by the wind, fluttered down elegantly to land on the ground, only to be carelessly trampled on by exultant students. The cool spring air resonated with joyous laughter and the vibrancy of enthusiastic chatter. After months of stressing over their career paths and pressing their noses into books while burning the midnight oil, the nervously anticipated day had finally dawned upon them; graduation day.

Camera shutters sounded from every direction of the compass, clinging embraces were shared between tearful but grinning faces and empty promises of keeping in touch fervently exchanged. Away from the crowd of effervescent teens, Shuutoku's renowned light and shadow were nestled within the warm confines of the gym, surrounded by their fellow third years and juniors of the basketball club.

"We're ganna miss you, captain Takao!" One boy exclaimed, eyes glistening.

"Midorima-senpai will always be the best ace in Shuutoku's history!" Another cried out and the rest hollered in agreement.

"Hey, what's with all the water works? You're making me cry," Takao's jest was augmented by his ever present smile, warm and pleasant like the sun on a balmy day lighting up the sky.

The former point guard patted his underclassman comfortingly on the back. Midorima stepped away from the stifling press of warm bodies. Left hand fiddling with the star pendant on his neck – his lucky item of the day – he watched as his partner drowned in the mob that eagerly gathered around him.

Although he did not posses similar traits of great leadership like Ootsubo or Akashi, Takao became a person everyone was proud to call their captain. When Takao was first appointed the responsibility – with unanimous agreement – the teen was infinitely confused, uncertain. Doubt over his own capabilities ambushed his flexible risibility. He was neither of a commanding nor authoritative nature. In his honest opinion, he believed Midorima to be a better candidate, but the man himself disagreed. Never one to run away from a challenge, in lieu of trying to become something he was not, he assumed his role as captain in his own style, against the propriety of standard captaincy. He chose to stand in front of his team not as a captain, but a friend first and foremost- an unconventional approach that garnered a deeply rooted sense of respect from the team. No matter his status or position, Takao remained true to himself. As his second in command, Midorima could not ask for a better captain, willingly supporting his partner every way he could.

Couch Nakatani, having spotted his solitary form, approached Midorima. His coach placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Good work."

"Thank you, coach Nakatani," he answered respectfully.

Their third and final year at Shuutoku had been riddled with hectic days and joyful moments. Bulldozing through arduous walls with steadfast tenacity, they learned to manage their academics and basketball activities in a harmonious juggle. And their gruelling efforts were rewarded when they emerged as champions at Winter Cup against Seirin and passed their exams with flying colours.

Nakatani had turned his attention to the rambunctious bunch, a hint of fondness in his usually stern eyes. Midorima too, directed his gaze there, catching a certain silver-eyed boy's split second look.

Several times as the months progressed, Takao had persistently questioned his future plans. With an obstinacy Midorima was accustomed to, his partner attempted to coax an answer from his closed lips. However, he deemed that neither the time nor place was right, and so Midorima remained resolutely tight-lipped. Thus, the point guard had been casting occasional glances in his direction all day, unspoken words logged at the back of his throat. But it was subtle – almost unnoticeable in its transience – beseeching eyes that quietly, delicately implored an answer - the simplest form of reciprocation to quell the growing malady of unease plaguing his mind. Regretfully, Midorima granted him no such luxury, unable to stare into the silver pools rippled by the pebbles of confusion.

The intimate knowledge of Takao's personality further served to avert his eyes in guilt, avoiding his gaze. Cleverly hidden behind the black haired teen's camp frivolity were underlying emotions, well guarded much like a king's treasury such that even Midorima rarely saw its glistening, sorrowful riches. In spite of the worrisome thoughts that sought to fester and corrode, the male exuded an honestly energetic, vibrating energy. After all, it would not do well to sulk on such a joyous occasion. Therefore, he smiled, joked, laughed and played around on his last day as a high school student.

With naught but to patiently await the passing of time, Midorima resumed his disconsolate speculation. As he watched, an unknown heaviness settled into his chest, crushing his lungs and heart with an intangible weight he knew not the name of. Though, of the reason of its existence he could guess. Regardless, he only had himself to blame and in turn, leaned on his unbreakable resolve for comfort.

By the time they left the gym, waving final farewells to their now former teammates, it was already late in the evening. The horizon beyond resembled a landscape painted by the stunning colours of a mad artist. The pair went home on foot, Takao habitually filling the quietude with his mundane prattle. Midorima noticed the other's intonation lacked its usual energetic charm but made no comment. He was simply grateful his partner continued his one-sided chatter to avoid the awkward silence that would surely descend upon them like an ominous black cloud were the boy to stop talking. Such was the fragility of their current state.

With legs that felt as though they were weighted down by lead, Midorima slowed his pace to a halt as they reached the intersection. The left road lead to Takao's home, and the right to Midorima's. Contemplative silence enveloped the pair, a dusty veil that shrouded unexpressed words. Midorima stood with his back to the raven haired male. He stared ahead at the familiar path he had traversed through many an evening with Takao close to his side, his person radiating with joy. The walls that separated one house from the other offered shade against the dying vermillion sun, veiling them in their long shadows.

Midorima closed his eyes and recited his unyielding resolution like a chant to ward off oneiric ideas from possessing his mind.

"So … Shin-chan, wanna come over today?" The smaller boy questioned, staring up expectantly at the taller male's broad back.

Without turning around to address the black haired boy behind him, Midorima spoke the words he had rehearsed in the nervous recesses of his mind.

"Takao, I've been accepted into a college overseas."

"That's great! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We should celebrate!" Takao congratulated him, his tone one of earnest excitement, genuinely happy for his achievement.

He inhaled deeply a breath of fleeting courage. Midorima had finalised the onerous procedures a few months prior, his plans impeccable. Place ticket and passport packed neatly along with his luggage in the cleared room, a falter in his decision was unacceptable. Ignoring the dull ache in his chest, Midorima cleared his throat. Now was the right time and place. There was nothing significant in his choice, it was simply the best option to avoid unnecessary problems. He spoke in a clear curt tone, a vocalisation void of regret suggesting finality, voice and words hardened by his resolve.

"I don’t plan to come back until I graduate as a doctor. I'll be gone for a long time …" he paused, collecting conflicted thoughts. "Therefore, continuing our relationship will be a difficult task. It may even reflect negatively on my studies. After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that it would be in our best interest to end our relationship."

The root of the problem did not lie in the long distance relationship. If he were to pursue his ambition of becoming a doctor, his homosexual relationship would undoubtedly be frowned upon. Society's prejudices would chase after them like starved hounds. And he could not imagine the scorn of rejection by his own parents.

Silence and stillness were his only reply. For a moment, he thought the black haired teen might have run away. Temptation to look back and confirm his suspicions taunted him, but fear rooted him to the spot. The handsome face and the expression that decorated its charming features were things Midorima wanted to see least.

"I-I … see," a small voice stammered in timid uncertainty.

It was a foreign sound to his accustomed ears. Takao was always loud, talking a mile a minute and laughing animatedly, sounds that would lighten the hearts of any listeners. On the rare occasion he would whisper, his vocals took on a low comforting timbre, like warm honey, soft and sweet. But nothing like this. Never like this. Like a fragile voice of broken faith.

"I mean … ah, I get it. Shin-chan will definitely be a great doctor! I know you will … that … and I wish you the best in life."

At the simple utterance of comprehension and encouragement, Midorima released the anxious breath he had not realized he held. He had expected the teen to lash out at him, strike him with his burning ire of abandonment. Although relieved and infinitely thankful Takao was of sensible logic, Midorima could not shake off the gnawing feeling that something was wrong.

He shook his head, chasing away the troublesome thoughts.

"Well then, this is goodbye, Takao."

"Wait!"

Halted by the desperate grip of his voice, Midorima waited.

"Before you go … could you at least say it once?" Ever so slightly, the voice trembled. "Ne … Shin-chan ... did you love me? Even just a little bit?" His whisper was fainter than the hush of wind.

Midorima allowed the question to evaporate into the darkening sky, joining a multitude of things left unsaid between them. Oppressive, irredeemable, and ultimately cruel.

"I'm sorry," Midorima apologised at last, taking his first step forward. Towards his career, towards a brighter future, without looking back.

If only he had.

If only he had spared a glance at the lonesome figure standing by the intersection, watching his receding back. Takao had his hands clasped over his mouth, desperately holding back the sobs that threatened to choke him. A river of tears spilled from the ocean of his silver eyes. He knew and he understood Midorima's decision. It was hard for both parties. Midorima feared to face him, feared Takao's reaction to his sudden but calculated announcement. Afraid he would falter. Another part of him wanted to scream in protest and beg the tall man to stay. But he didn't. He couldn’t. Because Midorima was right. His beloved Shin-chan, his devoted Ace-sama, was always destined for great things.

As a whale of grey sky swallowed the orange evening light, Takao whispered the words he could not say before. Words that would have anchored Midorima to him.

"I love you … Shintarou."

The boy crumpled to the ground, physically and mentally unable to withstand the burden of his unfathomable despair as the merciless, cold darkness of night enveloped his world.

 

Massaging the bridge of his nose before sliding on his spectacles again, Midorima stared with weary eyes at the pile of papers stacked up precariously high on his desk. Diagnosing patients, prescribing medicine and performing surgeries were not the only duties listed in the agenda of a doctor. There was also paperwork; detailed descriptions of each patient's condition and subsequent progress were necessary documents every doctor in training had to keep record of. The records themselves were a fairly simple task to complete. It was the uncalled for twenty four hour shift that had worn him out; his fuel tank running on empty.

The wave of people requiring immediate medical attention had hit the hospital with the force of a tsunami, sending every staff member into frenzied, unforgivable and unrelenting waters. An overturned public bus wherein several other cars were ill-fatedly dragged into its surging misfortune. Midorima easily found himself drowning in the mass flood of activity. He was only relieved of the pandemonic rush once most of the wounded were conscientiously taken care of. Currently, he was on standby, cursed with the adversity of an intern. His tired eyes burned from staring at the crisp white paper in the incandescent lighting. Midorima closed his eyes, but even behind closed lids, the irritation persisted.

The violent vibrations of his phone startled him out of an unintended nap. Fishing the offending gadget from his trouser pocket, he squinted at the vibrantly flashing screen. It was a message from Kise; an invitation to a night out drinking. Driven by fatigue, he carelessly tossed his phone onto the desk without writing a reply and slumped boneless onto his seat.

Midorima had returned to his homeland two months prior with a hard earned doctorate. Kise was the first to greet him - having successfully earned his pilot's license, the airport had become his domain. The blond – ever the social butterfly – had arranged a welcoming party in his stead.

That evening, Midorima found himself surrounded by distinctly familiar faces. A collage of the impractical and mature, the jovial and the sombre. The gathering mainly consisted of the people he knew in high school, but who now, after ten years apart, felt like strangers to him. Midorima had cut off almost all contact once he had landed safely in England. He knew nothing of the people he left behind. Miyaji was the first to notice his discomfort and dutifully threatened to split his skull open with a pineapple. And somehow, from there, Midorima felt as though he had been transported back to Shuutoku's gym in his year and rediscovered memories lurking in the corners of his mind.

Many of the faces from his teenage years were present. His seniors and juniors from Shuutoku High, the Generation of Miracles – excluding Akashi who was away on a business trip – and even Kagami and several members from Seirin. There was however, a single missing presence he sought after from the beginning but to no avail. His absence an unfathomable magnitude that fractured time and space; Takao Kazunari. An existence that would, voluntarily or not, fleet across his conscience occasionally, like a shooting star, its image fleeting but its light lingering.

"We were unable to contact Takao-kun."

The ghost of a voice he distinctly knew startled him. Midorima did not need to face the person beside him to know it was Kuroko who had snuck up on him, up to his old tricks again.

"We lost contact with him a few years back," the next person closest to them spoke up with his own input.

"Last time I heard, he wanted to move away from the city. Fresh air or something like that," Miyaji concluded with a shrug.

The information sunk in slowly, coiling around his mind in an oneiric tendril. Behind closed eyelids, he pictured rice fields that stretched towards the horizon and a glistening stream that ran across the landscape, where a certain black haired male had wadded into, smiling at the sun as the balmy light kissed his glowing cheeks. He hoped Takao was happy, wherever he may have been.

As the evening progressed, the gathering grew increasingly boisterous as some of the attendants became intoxicated. It was only when talk was exhausted, wrung out of its last remnants and the space it left was empty, warm, lifeless, did the party disband. They parted with smiles on their faces, a new hope to meet again and a lightness to their steps. Since that evening though, Midorima had not found the time to meet anyone else. His work was demanding, unrelenting with its long shifts and endless streams of whiny patients.

His every day was the same, stagnant, interminable, senseless hours that Midorima could not tell apart. The place where his veritable vocation had directed his steps to was a cavity of nothingness. Passing his exams and earning his license merely brought relief to his fatigued mind. The future he achieved through great efforts was not the brightly lit podium of satisfaction he imagined it to be. Instead, it was an empty wine glass leading a meaningless life. A profound void haunted him diurnally. It made his ears ring, the echo of a hollowed out shell that was his body. It made his soul howl desperate longing into the night like a wounded animal. For what, Midorima did not know for he lived in a disconnected world of fractured dreams - a world where he could not find the missing piece of the border to fill the sky.

Walking through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, to Midorima, felt like walking into a separate dimension. A sterile universe with worn plastic and steel chairs, synthetics, polymers and steel and polished floors. A place where the light shifted from natural to fluorescent with little subtlety.

As usual, he clocked in at the early hours of the day, before the first patient stepped foot into the aseptic atmosphere, expecting nothing less that the repeated cycle of the yesterdays. Today however, Midorima encountered an unexpected face in the lounge room.

"Good morning Dr. Moriya," he greeted with a slight bow of respect.

The wise man of fifty-two was a renowned veteran in the hospital. The ideal doctor he had aspired to be once upon a time.

"Oh, Midorima. Come have a seat." The man gestured to the faded plastic chair before him.

Midorima sat with his back straight and posture attentive across the table.

"I see you're worse for wear, life as a doctor isn't quite what you imagined, is it now?" He inquired, tone teasing.

Ashamed of being read so easily, he nodded stiffly.

"You'll get used to it soon and don’t worry, according to the doctors and nurses, you're doing just fine."

Midorima cleared his throat and opted for an honest albeit awkward reply, his once haughty personality mellowed by life and age.

"I'm not adept at handling patients."

The man laughed, his humour not the least insulting but of heartiness.

"Well, some patients are certainly trying. But there are also those who you'll eventually become emotionally attached to. We are, all humans after all. None of us are perfect."

Dr. Moriya smiled, the crinkle by his wise eyes deep after a lifetime of smiling. A contemplative silence settled until Midorima voiced the curiosity driven question on his mind.

"Do you have such a patient?"

"Of course … one in particular," the veteran replied, a hint of melancholy crept into his deep voice.

Noticing the expectant look on Midorima's expression, the old man recounted a tale that spanned the length of three years. A duration that was neither long nor short but sufficient. Enough time for the seeds of a melancholic bond to sprout small secretive baby leaves.

 

_Their first encounter occurred on a busy Tuesday afternoon. The polite young man came into his office with an empty smile and quiet eyes. His scans revealed a small tumour in his lungs, nothing life threatening as of yet. Several more visits and a successful surgery later, the male was discharged, another silhouette disappearing behind glass doors, his countenance as polite and formal as the first day they met. Dr. Moriya did not think much of him then. It was only a year later that the seed began to sprout._

_The same young man, the same empty smile with the difference of lifeless eyes as dull as an unpolished gem. The cancer had spread to his heart by the time it was diagnosed. Stage four cancer, a statement equivalent to a death sentence. A personal promise from the grim reaper. The inevitable soon that would instil fear in the hearts of many. And yet, with downcast eyes, the man whispered a single, simple sentence._

_"I see."_

_A quiet reply severely lacking in emotion. His irises reflected no fear or relief. It was but simple acceptance of a fate so unjustly and cruelly bestowed. A year and a half of treatments later, Dr. Moriya regretfully delivered the unavoidable news._

_"That was the last standard treatment."_

_"Thank you for your efforts thus far, doctor."_

_"We can still help. There are experimental treatments."_

_The man shook his head from side to side, a gesture that insinuated the beginning of the end._

_"No … I'd like to stop. I merely wish it would be as painless as possible," he wore the same smile he always did, like a mask frozen in time._

_Dr. Moriya had never received the crushing defeat of wanting to save a life that did not wish to be saved. It was curious. He was curious. Ever smiling and occasionally cracking jokes. A pleasant fellow with behaviour queer to one on their death bed. He was not socially awkward, the only way to describe it was to say the male was detached. As though the young man lived in a separate universe that existed alongside theirs. Like two parallel lines that would never intersect._

_Their bond however, was a slow flower unfurling delicate petals in secret. Overtime, the doctor learned of the subtle loneliness that saturated his false, imperturbable air._

_People often lived for the sake of others, be it a conscious or unconscious desire. When their own irrelevantly miniscule lives became unbearable, unworthy, they leaned on others. To find a reason, however trivial it may be, one simple reason was all it took. A simple something to anchor them to this world. To bridge them to this world from their own lonely meadow across the river._

_On that cold afternoon, Dr. Moriya glimpsed behind the tall impenetrable wall for the first time. He discovered a truth he had known long before from baseless speculation. His patient had always come alone for his treatments. Even when he was hospitalised, he never had any visitors. It was as if he lived a singular existence, the bridge to their connected world a collapsed ruin he could not cross over._

_"You have always been very kind, doctor. I'm sorry for being selfish … but there's nothing for me here. My parents and sister died in a car crash five years ago. And … the person I love the most had long ago moved on to become someone great."_

_It was a confession that displayed more emotion than he had seen in the innumerable hours Dr. Moriya had known him for. His forlorn eyes and bittersweet smile hauntingly beautiful in their sorrow._

 

The old man sighed, a sound of solemn grief. Outside, the sun had begun to encroach upon the horizon, its effulgent rays chasing after the blanket of darkness. Like a living being, the hospital would breathe with the awakening of its patients. Midorima would have to start his morning rounds soon, however, not soon enough.

"May I know … how is that patient now?"

"He's still alive … speaking of which, you two are about the same age. And if I'm not mistaken, you went to the same high school. He said you used to be a famous basketball player then. That certainly explains your impressive height."

The casual statement made Midorima's heart thud in his chest. An uncomfortable feeling lodged itself into his throat. The sense of familiarity was accompanied by dark foreboding.

"N-name … what is his name?"

Dr. Moriya spoke, unaware of the turmoil it stirred within Midorima's mind. A name that shattered the naïve imaginary of cool breezes, glistening rivers, vermillion sunsets and a smiling raven haired male, leaving behind a blank slate of gaping nihility. The ringing in his ears returned with a vengeance. Different from the usual static, his ears rang with a single long pitch. Like a heart rate monitor that measured a person's pulse, it cried one long shrill syllable that announced the death of a heart with a straight line.

"Takao Kazunari."

 

His steps echoed back at him in the deserted hallway, the hour still too early for visitors. Apprehension seized his fraying nerves as he approached his destination, the conversation with the veteran doctor fresh in his mind. The nameplate by the door was written in achingly familiar characters. Regardless, a small voice stubbornly refuted reality with the illusive hope it was a different person with the same name. There were two beds in the room; the one closest to the door was vacant, white linens pulled back and ready for the next tragic patient. The partition curtains were drawn, shielding the other bed from view. A gust of warm air swept in through the open window, the curtains dancing elegantly to the hushed breeze and Midorima caught glimpse of the edge of the rumpled sheets by the edge of the bed.

Midorima took one hesitant step into the room, then two, and another, each falling in sync with his nervously palpitating heart. The male on the bed had his face angled towards the window, black hair tousled by the wind and pale complexion illuminated white by the sunlight streaming in. Time seemed to stretch as his head turned towards Midorima, a slow revelation of familiar and yet foreign features. A gentle smile graced the man's pale lips, silver blue pupils reflecting vivid green. He swept his eyes through the miserably thin frame as the light drew harsh attention to the ailing. Dishevelled long hair, tired eyes and sunken cheeks painted the portrait of an endearing face he once knew and loved. His chest tightened, strangling his lungs until his voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Takao."

The incessant ringing that haunted his every waking hour stopped, only to harshly plunge into a narrow vacuum. A vacuum where only the man on the bed and he existed, the mismatched sensation of infinity and claustrophobia overwhelming in its intensity.

It was a silent statement of reality delivered with a precision that verged on cruelty.

"Hey."

He heard a voice that might or might not have been him, a man's voice, not a boy's, surrounded by ten years of silence and distance. A voice he had not heard before and yet, was easily, distinguishably familiar. A voice that shepherded tender, soft memories. However, there was something terribly wrong with the scene before him. Completely, utterly _wrong_. The fragments of warm days and a black haired boy with a sunny smile disintegrated into dust, the blanks of which were replaced with the cruel harshness of reality. The cold and lonely hospital room, barren of liveliness and affection. The cheerful, carefree boy of his youth reduced to a skeletal state with a banquet of cancer-infested innards. The polite, meaningless smile a pale comparison to the delightful lopsided quirk of the lips he fondly remembered.

"It's been a while." The stilted statement was delivered casually, lacking concern and sensitivity.

A maelstrom of emotions raged within Midorima, surprise and disbelief sewing his mouth shut. A nightmare he could never awake from, bound tightly by the chains of penance.

"Congratulations on becoming a doctor. I knew you could do it."

"You knew." It was an unspecified accusation that masked his stunned shock, a cover that was immediately seen through. He could never hide from those watchful eyes, from Takao. Nothing had changed between them. At the same time, everything did.

"Dr. Moriya enjoys chatting a lot," he said as a short explanation.

A whispered secret flashed across Midorima's eyes in bold lettering.

_"The person I love the most had long ago moved on to become someone great."_

That person, could it be him? Even after the long years apart, how could Takao still say such things?

The lump that grew in his throat with every passing second stifled his breath. Midorima childishly felt betrayed by Takao, by life, by the decisions he made. What had gone wrong he wondered, so inexplicably errored it invoked sick, loathsome feelings to surface. This stagnant reunion was not part of the brilliant future he expected. A fate too wicked, lonely and miserable on someone so undeserving of its malice.

"How?" A single word, a question heavy and profound.

What was it? What, exactly were his wants and expectations? Midorima had never been one for words, moreover, when it came to Takao, he didn't need any. Takao read him like an open book; his facial expressions, body language, and differentiated the slightest tilt in his tone between ire and tolerance. An uncanny ability he had not lost despite the empty years of separation.

"Don't you have rounds to make doctor? The head nurse here is pretty scary, she'll have your head if you make your patients wait too long."

Momentarily, the stature of a robust woman with fist of iron and a booming voice to match distracted his thoughts. But not for long.

The man talked with a kindly smile, one Midorima took no comfort in for it was far too quiet and aloof. A stark contrast to the pass where his smile would encompass his whole being, lighting up his surroundings with its benign radiance. Now, it was a mere ghost of its past splendour with only slight wrinkles by the corner of dull silver eyes to prove its adored existence.

A small fire of unknown origin burned in his chest. Takao knew exactly what he wanted before he knew it himself. He wanted to escape and Takao's words provided him with a hasty retreat. Unable to formulate a reply, he left, mute, brooding, perturbed, to resume his duties. He could not bear to be in the presence of a once intimate person, who at present was a stranger he could hardly form the words to converse with.

The connection Midorima had assumed he severed on that day by the crossroads however, remained, persistent, haunting and bittersweet. A magnetism that drew him to the raven haired man's room once again the very next day. A little more unflustered, a little less apprehensive, a sick comfort of what to anticipate. Takao greeted him politely as he had done the day before, plastering on a meretricious mask. Their conversation was short, a straightforward exchange of pleasantries and nothing more. Never more, no matter how often Midorima paid him a visit in the days to come. Takao's indifference was akin to a locked box missing its key, never to be opened again. The paralysis that had taken hold of the moment of their reunion persisted, incurable.

Cancer had decimated his frame and clawed hungrily at his spirits. It had ambushed Takao's ebullience till all that was left was a hollow shell too tired to support anything other than sleep. It was as though the male had forgotten how to laugh. There were many instances in the past when Midorima wished for quietude in the company of the black haired youth, yet now, in a time and place where his foolish wish was granted, he found himself craving for the sound of his unsuppressed laughter. The quiet that greeted his arrival and bid his farewell grew louder, muting the sounds of the world outside that all too noiseless room.

As the weeks rolled by, his visits became a routine Midorima was unwittingly enslaved to. A destination his legs unconsciously directed his steps to, a place of both comfort and fraught in the soundless hour without the exchange of speech.

"I'll come again tomorrow." He stood up to leave.

"You should focus on your job more."

The sentence stopped him in his tracks. The dispassionate statement was enunciated loud and clear, but somehow, he heard differently; the phantom of Takao's voice that whispered a hidden message.

_"You should stop coming here."_

Midorima looked back, the raven haired man's fancy was stolen by the view outside the window as he breathed in a summer he could never enjoy. The evening light danced, casting an illusion of faint tear tracks on dry cheeks. The male made no motion, spoke no words, a doll frozen in ethereal space. His world an intangible portrait Midorima could never cross the borders to. Far and out of reach.

His legs took him away from the room, each ambivalent step leaden with a query. The invisible force that drew him to the whitewashed room of saccharine muteness a constant weight on his fatigued, distraught soul. Why did he frequent that room? A riddle he could not solve, and perhaps, an answer Takao knew, one he did not wish to share. What was it he truly desired, he did not know. Perhaps, Takao had the solution. Maybe, it was time to put an end to this. The string that tied them together had long been severed, brutally cut by Midorima himself.

Days, weeks, perhaps; a measure of time Midorima could not be certain of passed as he resumed a routine akin to normal. Donning the previous uniform of ignorance that did not quite fit him anymore. Aimlessly through day after day, seeking for a purpose and direction.

 

The shutting down of an organ, the slow disintegration into eternal darkness. Those left waiting, mourning by their phones. It was a process he bore witness to on multiple occasions with a comforting sense of detachment; a mere outsider peering in through the foggy glass of a window, naïve and oblivious to the frigid agony on the other side. It was only when the numbing possibility of the inevitable descended upon his thoughts did Midorima find an answer to all his questions. A broken embankment with surging waters of feelings, facts he desperately avoided. Parading ignorance in the face of reality. Takao never held a grudge against him. Always forgiving, understanding and pardoning every one of his whims and selfishness. Never hurting others. Prioritising someone else before himself, shouldering the burden alone. There was neither cure nor comfort in Takao's short future. And he wanted to liberate Midorima from the pain of those left behind. A deep, selfless and pure love for someone who once thoughtlessly cast him aside.

A heart attack, a predestined lapse in his condition. The climax of the finale. News Takao awoke to, tired and groggy but at ease with the certainty of the end. A tranquillity only disrupted by the arrival of Midorima Shintarou, an air of distress trailing after his coat.

"That will be all for now. I'll come check up on you again later Takao-kun." Observant and perceptive of the atmosphere, Dr. Moriya retreated from the room with the nurses at his heels.

"Takao …"

The raven haired male sighed, a sound of solemn defeat as his shoulders sagged.

"Midorima … are you so free to come here so often?"

"Takao, this wasn't what I had in mind."

The male shook his head, his wry smile a small semblance to the boy of his youth. A private joke he did not share.

"It's not your fault. No one can predict the future."

"I don't want this … Takao, I realise that I still love you," the confession came as a whisper.

"Hearing you say that now is bittersweet."

"I-" His sentence was cut off by the man, his voice louder, clearer, drawing an arrow straight into Midorima's vulnerable heart.

"You never once said it in high school, you're only saying it now out of pity."

"That's not true!"

"I don't believe you." Words that brought pain. Words that offered no solace. "You shouldn't come here anymore." Words that signified the conclusion.

Oppressive and heavy silence fell, both parties drowning in emotions the other was unaware of. Midorima clenched his fists. Takao closed his eyes. Both wishing for something different, but of the same significance.

He stormed out, the ugly tendrils of rejection clawing at his pride, thorns prickling his wounded heart, the true thoughts in Takao's mind unbeknownst to him. Beset as he was by his own bruised sentiments, Midorima disregarded the eyes that burned into his back.

Stuck in a loop, Midorima had run a full circle, returning to the dreaded room after a restless night. Various cords connected to the small ill body, a heart rate monitor, an IV drip, a gas mask, monitors beeping incessantly, yet the male slumbered deeply, riding painlessly on a wave of morphine. It was a blaring clarification of the fragility of Takao's existence. A reminder of the swift celerity of death.

"Takao, are you awake?" His words were a contrast to the feather soft gestures as he leaned over the resting man, gently stroking a pallid cheek.

Under the factitious light of the hospital ward, Takao resembled an exquisite corpse if not for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm sorry … I'm so sorry."

Searing remorse ate away at his conscience, leaving a trail of guilt filled crumbs. His past decisions. The things he did. The things he should have done. Everything swirled into a raging ball of fire that burned in his chest, like a miniature sun, blazing away and burning his from the inside. To the Takao that showered him generously with unconditional love and kindness, he could never hope to repay. Instead, he had inexcusably hurt him time and again. A sin Midorima could never cleanse. Because he always looked away he never saw the pain that swam in those light irises.

"Fool … why did you love someone like me? No, I'm the fool. Why did I leave you?"

Takao was a treasured existence, beyond the name, number and date of birth on the white hospital tag wrapped around his wrist.

"It's okay … Shin-chan," a mumble, his voice thin and empty through the oxygen mask, his eyes clouded over as though he was still in the land of dreams. Perhaps he was, a confession he could only admit in a different world.

Midorima hid his tears behind a sheet of A4 paper and a hospital Biro. A sombre air muted their relationship, an eventual parting waiting to be heard.

 

He roused with the sun, in his room, in his parents home. The digital clock by his bedside revealed the date; it was graduation day. His moist cheeks felt cold, stained by drying tears. His eyes throbbed with the urge to cry in relief. It was a dream. His mouth quivered with a silent laugh at his own stupidity. It was all just a dream, a nightmare. And then, he sobbed into the duvet, emerald eyes spilling red hot tears in an endless stream of woe. Real, tangible despair that transcended the borders of fiction into reality. It terrified him.

The slow trajectory of the petals from the cherry blossom tree, the combined symphony of chatter and camera shutters, the scenes played out like a sentimental movie. The graduation ceremony, the gathering in the gym, the walk home. The crossroads. Everything was a disturbingly accurate enactment of his dream.

"So … Shin-chan, wanna come over today?" The smaller boy questioned, staring up expectantly at the taller male's broad back.

The road before him was coloured in twilight and cajoled him into a future he hoped to achieve. But then, Midorima turned to face the boy, and the last vestiges of the oneiric world fell away, like haze clearing after the rain.

Takao stood before him, a sweet curve on pink lips, patiently waiting for a reply to his query.

"Takao, I've been accepted into a college overseas."

"That's great! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We should celebrate!" The boy congratulated him, his tone one of earnest excitement, genuinely happy for his achievement.

"I don’t plan to come back until I graduate as a doctor. I'll be gone for a long time …" he paused, collecting conflicted thoughts. "Therefore, continuing our relationship will be a difficult task. It may even reflect negatively on my studies. After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that it would be in our best interest to end our relationship."

The ebony haired male's smile faltered, mouth parted with muted words, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. At last, Midorima knew what he wanted. To him, the black haired beauty had the most dazzling silver-blue eyes, endearingly warm smile and a heart more precious than the rarest gem or pearl in the universe.

"Kazunari … I love you. I don't want things to end this way. So please ... stay with me."

* * *

 

His footsteps held its breath in the silent space, the space that held its breath for news. All around him there was urgent activity – people pacing around moaning, nurses rushing in and out of various rooms – while Midorima anxiously waited for the seconds of the hands to go by. His chest ached and his eyes stung, he felt as though he was drowning in a sea of dreadful trepidation. Murky waters dragged him down to the cold hostile abyssal deep as his lungs burned for respite, even if it were a breath of poisoned fume. Finally, Dr Moriya appeared by the door, the call of his eyes surpassing the need for verbal confirmation. Single-mindedly, hasty legs rushed past the old man and into the room.

The man on the bed was a deteriorated, feeble creature whose life depended on the various tubes inserted into thin flesh. Takao didn't say anything, just reached out the weak hand closest to him. A mute request for him to take it. Take it and not let go. The silver promise ring Midorima had slipped onto his ring finger glinted boldly in the incandescent lighting, looking too big and awkward on that deathly thin hand.

 

_It was the season of evanescent cicadas, their entire life span but a blink of an eye to most. Their loud noises a futile attempt to be remembered. Despite the apparent heat, Takao was clad in a long sleeved shirt, a beige shawl draped over bone thin shoulders. The wheelchair he sat on was silent – without a hushed creak on its well oiled wheels – as silent as the man who steered it. By hook or by crook, Midorima had managed to receive Dr Moriya's consent to take him out. Takao did not inquire the destination of their little excursion and Midorima did not elaborate._

_Quietness ruled over them, both lost in their own thoughts as they traveled down memory lane. The roads of their youth had been altered over time but were still nostalgically familiar. The florist replaced by a stationary shop, a new post box by the corner, the steel bars at the park now age worn and rusted. And then, as they always did when they took this path, they arrived at the crossroads._

_Midorima kneeled down before the black haired male, took out a small box, inside which nestled a silver ring on velvet red cushions._

_"This time, I won't leave you. I promise."_

_"You idiot. This isn't fair!" His hands trembled, tremors he could not contain no matter how tightly he clasped them._

_Tears were shed in that place of both parting and reunions. The cicadas wailed, their shrill cries a song of mourn._

 

He reached out, grasping the cold hand tight as a clamp and tuned everything out, leaving only the feel of his faint pulse through the thin wrist and the sound of his shallow breaths. Midorima could feel his throat choking again as his eyes watered. It felt beyond terrible. He knew it would come, and soon, the moment he would slip from his grasp, no matter how tightly he held on. His grief was a physical thing, gripping him like a clamp, clenching him tight as a muscle. Midorima could hardly breath from the sheer effort of it.

Takao spoke, his voice so thin and low it was almost impossible to comprehend. The one word seemed to sap his strength and the male closed his eyes in rest or an eternal slumber, Midorima could not be certain.

"Sorry."

Closing his eyes, he listened closely to Takao's labored breathing, to try to hear if it was getting more so. To hear the second it stopped. Not yet, but soon. He waited until the moment he would be plunged into bottomless, incalculable grief as the light of his life faded into nothing. The dawn of a perpetual winter of solitude waiting by the edge of the horizon.

 

Alone, on a king sized bed, the ceiling a sea of unfocused darkness indicated the late hour. Midorima awoke to these conditions and jolted upright, staring at the empty side of the bed on his right in mute horror. His mind still trapped in the dream, panic seized his nerves and he called out loudly, "Takao?!"

"Shin-chan?" Across the room, the soft mellifluous voice echoed.

Takao stood by the door that lead to the bathroom, the oversized shirt hung loosely on his narrow shoulders and thin frame. His bare scalp looked too soft, too fragile in the harsh factitious illumination, like a newborn's. It made Midorima's stomach hurt to see it.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Closing the bathroom door, he approached the bed.

He wanted to disagree. He wouldn't have noticed even if Takao had run to the bathroom in the dead of the night. The weight he had lost made him tread lighter, footsteps hushed as the tip-toeing of a phantom. And he continued to loose weight, something Midorima couldn't help but notice even though the man was always bundled up in several layers of clothing. A side effect of the medication he took, one among many.

Nausea, mouth sores, headaches, swollen feet, lack of energy, diarrhea, constipation, cramps and fevers, hour upon hour of discomfort. Midorima could only watch with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness whenever Takao hurled what little contents were in his stomach into the toilet bowl, gently running his wide palm over Takao's protruding spine to ease the convulsions that shook his tired body.

But the doctor said it was working. It was never easy, but the medication did its job. Midorima had insist the raven haired male make regular check ups over the years. The cancer was detected at an early stage. There were high hopes for a cure.

Takao crawled onto the bed and Midorima pulled him close, caging him in his strong arms. Breathing in his lover's scent, his heart calmed down.

"I love you."

The male giggled, snuggling deeper into his warm embrace.

"I love you too. Good night Shin-chan."

"Sweet dreams."

Soft as a feather, he placed a chaste kiss on the man's forehead. It was okay. Everything would be okay. Because they were together.

**Author's Note:**

> So, did you cry?  
> Many thanks to my beta reader for going over this despite her busy schedule, I love her lots~ This certainly turned out a lot longer than I estimated and I hope it was worth the read. Really, thank you for reading this to the end, the idea actually came to me over a year ago but I only actually started writing it a few months back. I am soo elated to be able to actually finish this. Thanks again for reading and I'd love to hear some feeback? ovo


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